So Quietly
by Heejin
Summary: *slash* Aragorn makes his first mistake (based more on the movie)


"What did you call me?"  
  
Aragorn blinked, shocked out of his lust to see cool blue eyes staring up at him.  
  
"Ah...I..what is wrong?" he asked uneasily, although thought was returning and he was starting to have some idea.  
  
"Legolas I."  
  
He could not continue  
  
The grip on his neck tightened almost painfully as he was straddled. The fact that the elf was entirely naked did nothing to take away from his sense of utter menace. He found himself very afraid and aroused.  
  
Their eyes locked.  
  
"Do you mistake me for a delicate elfin maid, Estel" It was not really a question. He hissed as Legolas grasped his balls with his other hand, the pressure just this side of uncomfortable.  
  
"Would you like me to cry for you as you impale me? To blush like a virgin?" There was no expression on the elf's face; a slither of unbound hair had fallen forward partially covering his right eye. Aragorn's fingers twitched, at that moment he wanted nothing more then to brush the hair back, to bury his fingers in the soft threads. He didn't dare.  
  
"You wish to touch me Estel?" Ironic voice so calm, so precisely clipped, Legolas cocked his face to one side, as if considering, that maddening slither still caught in his eyelashes, golden in the firelight. Aragorn's twitching fingers had become an itch, he was now unbearably hard. He didn't dare move, Aragorn had had dealings with the elf for many years, he had never seen him so enraged.  
  
Legolas leaned down closer to him, his grip never loosening, on his balls or his throat. The long blond hair fell, creating a curtain of just the two of them. Brushing Aragorn's cheeks, sweet scent, soft like another's, but his mind shied from this, this elf was far more.. interesting.  
  
Legolas continued to study him, silence, more twitching, the sound of his fast heartbeat, the faint crackle from the fireplace, the strong smell of new grass that can could only come from the silken hair, twitch, twitch. He scrunched his hands into tense fists, knowing that this is more telling then his wayward fingers.  
  
The seconds turned into minutes and looking straight into the eyes of the elf he knew he could he could hide nothing, the anger building within him, did nothing to destroy his arousal.  
  
He could almost imagine seeing slight amusement in the elf's features. How dare this elf presume to know him, Legolas was a prince, but Aragorn would one day be King.  
  
Before he could respond with some suitable insult, the elf's left hand had moved from his balls to lightly stroke his cock. The calculated touch destroying any chance of speech. With a slight nod, as if coming to a decision the elf spoke, this time in his native Sindar.  
  
"I was killing orcs when your great-great-grandfather was still disgorging his mother's milk." Legolas emphasized every word with a light stroke of Aragorn's cock then released it, but not before one painful squeeze. A whimper broke forth unbidden. So much desire, so much shame; his body was at odds with his pride.  
  
Aragorn watch as the elf's face moved away, now fully upright as he straddled him, a bitter smile on his face, eyes becoming black shadows in the torchlight, his hair a golden halo.  
  
The hand loosened on this throat and he found himself inhaling, gasping for air. The long fingers of the elf had moved down to the Evenstar that laid on his chest. The jewel stroked once with deliberate, dispassionate care.  
  
"I won't be a substitute for anyone Aragorn, Son of Arathorn." The words stark and ugly, back to common Gondor; the language of men. With that Legolas was across the room, fluidly grabbing his clothes from the floor where they had been tossed so carelessly before. The stunned man on the bed evidently of no further interest.  
  
Aragorn watched Legolas, trying to think of something to say. Still angry and confused. Some part of him knew that he had erred in the treatment of his friend, that he had failed him in the worst possible way. It still did not alleviate his current indignation and anger. He could not speak for the pain in his chest, his anger, his unspent desire.  
  
Legolas had finished clothing himself. Binding his long hair with efficient economy the Elf moved to the oaken door, for a moment the elf looked back, the torch light giving him a sad ethereal quality. His fine features were far more evident with his hair tied back, his skin so white in the torchlight, a fragile beauty that belied the hard look of his eyes . "If you want to take me to your bed Estel, then extend me the courtesy of my name"  
  
With that he was gone. 


End file.
